


but if you have to go, i'll play the fool

by AriaJoie, bipolyjack



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/F, Grief/Mourning, Love at First Sight, Slow Burn, there's gonna be battle gore etc. later, they're also gonna fuck tastefully later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2019-11-07 04:56:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17954009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriaJoie/pseuds/AriaJoie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bipolyjack/pseuds/bipolyjack
Summary: "Speaking of not becoming a crater, what should I call you? Your Wildness?""Morrigan will do just fine. Unless you prefer Ms. Witch of the Wilds. That may be amusing once Alistair wakes."All right, good to know she could crack a joke without getting burnt alive. "Morrigan, then." Enna backed out of the circle of firelight. "Sleep well, Morrigan."





	1. Chapter 1

Morrigan sat by the fire, waiting for anything to happen, be it the pot boiling or the dwarf occupying her bed waking. It was starting to seem like the latter might be a lost cause, though the last time she’d thought that, the ex-Templar had roused himself and gone right back to being a suspicious nuisance.

 

She looked the dwarf over again. She really was just a girl, it seemed, or at least not a seasoned warrior. Battered and bloody when Flemeth had brought her to the hut, but still she seemed much too young to have been through Ostagar. That said, she wasn't as ill prepared as her age might suggest. She was muscular, for one, though that might just have been the way of dwarves, Morrigan wasn't sure. She was certain, however, that the varied collection of scars and older injuries, too distant to call Ostagar their origin, were not typical of the girl's people.

 

Rousing herself, for she had certainly been staring at the sleeping figure for too long, Morrigan turned back to the pot, now simmering gently over the flames.

 

Enna's return to consciousness brought with it a surge of panic. She bolted upright, making to seize her weapons, but her hands encountered only a worn blanket. She remembered the arrows punching through her chestplate, but the ache seemed faded with time, as if she'd spent several weeks resting and healing. She was in a bed now, not at the top of the tower at Ostagar. 

 

A small but merry fire burned in the grate in one corner of the hut, a kneeling figure silhouetted against it. Reflexively, Enna reached for her swords again and got two fistfuls of blanket, as before. "Who -" Her voice came out rough and guttural with disuse. She coughed, gulped for air. "Where's Duncan? And Alistair, and the King? What happened?"

 

Morrigan turned as she heard the bed rustle, signifying her guest's return to the living. She considered the panting dwarf and replied, "I do not know the first one you ask after, but he is likely dead with his comrades. The king has fallen as well, for that matter. Your talkative companion, on the other hand, is fine. He awoke yesterday and has spent equal time looking in on you and tormenting me."

 

It took Enna a moment to place the voice: the Chasind woman they'd encountered in the Korcari Wilds. A witch, Alistair had called her. So this must be her hut.

 

Then Morrigan's actual words sank in. “Wait,  _ dead _ ? No, they can’t - I lit the beacon, I - How long have we -" Her hand went to her chest, where she expected bandages, or at least scabbing wounds, but her fingers found smooth skin from neck to navel, perfect like a baby’s, the marks of battle and mishap she’d collected over the years wiped away like a rag through dust. Her arms and legs, bare, latticed with plenty of other scars she rarely bothered to look at, stared back at her like near-strangers. Her threadbare, much-mended smallclothes looked and felt cleaner than Enna had ever been able to get them - truly clean, no trace of blood or sweat - which meant that the witch, or her mother, must have taken them off her while she slept. Enna drew the blanket up over herself. “Where’s my armor? And my clothes?”

 

"You may have lit the beacon, but your assistance never came. All who remained were slaughtered by the darkspawn." Morrigan stood and moved towards the bed, standing near the foot. The girl was looking more nervous by the moment, and Morrigan felt it best to avoid a panic.

 

"Your equipment is in this chest. Mother and I patched it up as best we could, but you will have to make do. Now, if you have no more questions, I will give you some privacy. Please do hurry out when you're ready, I'm sure your friend will be even more insufferable than usual until you do."

 

As Morrigan passed by the head of the bed, Enna reached out from beneath the blanket and caught her by the arm. "Wait. Wait a sodding minute. How long ago was the battle? How long have Alistair and I been here? Why aren't we dead too? Are you lying to me, witch?”

 

Morrigan almost pulled away, but didn't quite. "Of course I'm not. They're all dead, the king, the Wardens, all of them. You've been out for three days, and only alive because of Mother. She saw the tide of battle, and swooped in at the last moment. Ask her yourself if you don't believe me. Now, if you're quite done?" she asked, glancing at the hand clenching her arm.

 

It took Enna a moment to relax her rigid fingers. Duncan and Cailan and all the others. Dead. She and Alistair, the only Wardens left. Wynne, the kind mage, dead too, probably, along with everyone else in the camp. The dog she'd saved. 

 

Morrigan went out and shut the door behind her, and still Enna sat upright in the bed, staring ahead at nothing in particular, hands resting slack in her lap. She wanted her clothes and armor, but the task of climbing down out of the human-sized bed seemed difficult beyond measure. Working for Beraht had given Enna plenty of practice at dragging herself out of bed in the morning regardless of how battered her body happened to be, but now her senses seemed dull, her eyes focusing too slowly. Shock. She could recognize it well enough in others.

 

Flemeth’s patch-work on her punctured breastplate would hold, thought it couldn’t be called handsome. Enna strapped on the rest of her armor, tied her hair back and let herself out of the hut, shading her eyes with her hand against the pale glare of the horrible thing in the sky. After several days aboveground, she still avoided looking up. The two witches waited in the yard, along with Alistair, who bounded to his feet when he saw her. "Alistair? Are you -"

 

"I'm fine," he replied as he hurried to meet her. "I'm glad to see you. Up on your feet. I just- I still can't believe it all."

 

Morrigan watched the reunion with some interest. The two couldn't have known each other for more than a few days, and yet he already seemed to care so dearly for her. Odd.

 

Surprising herself, Enna seized him about the waist and clung to him tightly, pressing her cheek to his plated jerkin as Morrigan and Flemeth looked on with varying degrees of visible distaste. Alistair survived. Alistair was solid and real and would not lie to her. "She says we’re the only ones left.”

 

Alistair reached down and wrapped his arms around her as best he could, mostly holding her head. "I think so," he said quietly. "Maybe some others got lucky, but. The way they tell it. I don't know."

 

She rested her forehead against his middle. Looking up at him might have been more polite, but Enna knew the sight of all that empty air above her would make her legs go weak. “Duncan?”

 

He said nothing, for once, but she felt him shake his head.

 

—

 

They pitched camp shortly before sundown - the sodding thing went up and down! Like a big terrible lantern bobbing around in the sky! -  in a dip between two hills. Alistair said they were on their way to Lothering, a small town at the edge of the Wilds where they could stock up on provisions and hopefully get a better idea of what truly happened at Ostagar. 

 

As Enna set up her tent, less for privacy and more to avoid looking up at the frightening expanse of  _ stars  _ and  _ clouds _ as she tried to sleep, she couldn't help but notice that Morrigan had chosen to make her own bed far away from the fire over which the three of them had cooked their meager dinner. She'd lit her own fire as well, and Enna could just see her now, silhouetted against it, as she'd been when Enna woke up in her bed that same day. It really was still the same day, wasn’t it? Longest day of her life. 

 

Alistair was already yawning and settling in for the night, so she waited until she heard faint snores coming from his bedroll before crawling out of her little tent and making for the distant flicker of Morrigan's fire. The witch had not been a talkative traveler, probably because Alistair never shut up; perhaps Enna could coax some answers out of her now.

 

Morrigan sighed and stood as she heard the footsteps approaching her, turning to face her guest. As the Warden appeared at the edge of the firelight, Morrigan asked, "Have we not spent enough time together today? I would have thought that the time on the road would be enough for anyone."

 

The witch had her back to the fire. Enna could barely make her out against the back-glow, only the pale edges of her brow and breast, lit by the other, smaller, less terrible thing in the sky. "You didn’t have much to say on the road."

 

"I suppose that means you have questions for me? Are you sure it wouldn't be better to take after your friend's example?" Morrigan asked, nodding towards the snoring figure.

 

Enna gave a wry smile. "Better, yeah." Sure would be great if she could sleep as deeply and peacefully, and immediately, as Alistair. But night terrors, a Warden’s curse, she was told, had made sleep a chore every night since the Joining. Besides, lying awake in the dark, she could feel the dizzying space of the wide-open sky stronger than ever. "Listen, I’m not here to interrogate you. I just want to know why you let Flemeth bully you into this.”

 

"Ah, yes, well, I’m still wondering that myself. I suppose it’s as my Mother said. Being gutted and eaten by a darkspawn horde makes me just as dead as everyone else. So while this is perhaps not an ideal situation, it still seems the best way, no?" The girl seemed to strike a fine balance between trusting and suspicious. Trusting enough to let the other one sleep and approach alone, but suspicious enough that she needed to question her motivations. Still, better than complete naivety.

 

"So you figured this was the safest place to be? Something tells me you could flatten more darkspawn with one finger than he and I -” Enna gestured down at herself, and then over her shoulder at the sleeping Alistair, “- could mow down in a day.”

 

"Ha, you're not wrong. But even so, it only takes one of them getting too close for me to fall. I suspect the same is not true of you."

 

"So you needed bodyguards. Fair enough. But have you never thought about leaving the Wilds before? Flemeth doesn’t seem like the greatest company.” That was rude, Enna realized, only after the words had left her mouth, but she decided to let them stand.

 

Morrigan felt a frown cross her face. "Mother has never been good company, so much as she has simply been there and kept me alive. But no, that aside, I have simply never been out of the Wilds for long before."

 

"But you must have  _ wondered _ ." Enna rounded the fire, putting the flames between them so she could see Morrigan's expressions rather than guessing at them. "Weren't you ever curious about the rest of the world? The parts you’d never seen. Even between Orzammar and the camp at Ostagar - every hour of that march, I felt like I found ten things I didn’t know the names of.” She scuffed a toe at the bristly tufts of plant matter growing at her feet.  _ Grass _ , Alistair had told her. “I mean - does it ever bother you, when you realize how many things you don’t know?”

 

"Speaking from experience, are we?" Morrigan mused with a smile. "I was curious at first, of course. I heard Mother's tales of grand cities and people and merchants and all the other wonders, and decided that I had to see them. Once I was old enough to visit, however, I found that most of those people were not what I'd hoped they'd be. Rude and boorish, loud and stupid. No, I'd much prefer to stay where I was."

 

Enna kicked at the tuft of grass again. “Fair.” She knew herself to be plenty boorish and stupid - Beraht had informed her of that often enough, especially if she ever tried to branch out from killing things and blunt threats into, say, bartering - but there were also people like Duncan in the world, who didn't spit on you and called you by name and made you feel like you mattered even when you were boorish and stupid. “I just - there’s no way  _ everyone  _ up here is terrible."

 

Morrigan sighed gently. "Yes, I suppose you must be right. Truthfully I have met very few people, mostly shopkeepers and the sort of louts who bother women who have shown no interest in them. I suppose you Wardens are possibly on the list of the worth while, or at least trying to be. Perhaps if Alistair keeps his head attached to his shoulders for long enough, he'll learn to use it for something."

 

Enna could still just see his outline against the embers of the other fire, bulky in his bedroll. They hadn’t talked about it, but she knew he felt the loss of their comrades at Ostagar even more keenly than she did. He’d known them all longer, after all. "He may be on the green side, but he's not a lout. At least, I think he’s not." She hid a grin, thinking of the face Morrigan would make if she heard his snoring. "So that’s at least one Warden who's probably worth your while."

 

Morrigan scoffed. "Surely you don't value him above yourself? Only one of you hid behind a rock when we first met, if I recall."

 

"I didn't know I was supposed to be scared of you yet."

 

"Yes, well, I suppose you wouldn't know if you didn't have the Chantry breathing down your neck your whole life. Have you figured it out for yourself by now?"

 

"They teach us sod-all about magic down there," Enna said, sidestepping the question. "Dwarves can’t do it. Humans can kill people with it, and stop people from getting killed, and they pay a lot of coin for our lyrium. What else should I know?"

 

"Well," Morrigan said with a small smirk, "perhaps I should warn you that it can be used to change one's appearance, quite drastically in some cases. For example, should you see me become a giant spider, you should not attempt to slay me."

 

Enna raised an eyebrow. "Ah. See, that's the kind of warning Alistair probably had. Can you do other forms? You'd better list them all."

 

"My repertoire is limited for now. As I continue my studies, I will likely develop others, which you can be assured I will warn you of."

 

"Thanks. That would be, uh, that would be great." A stray spark drifted down out of the fire, and Enna smothered it with her toe. Morrigan had been forthright with her so far, or had seemed to be. Only fair to warn the witch in return. "I've been told," she said, thumbing at her newly patched armor, "that I, uh, scream. In my sleep. Alistair says it’s normal - a Warden thing." That wasn't what he'd said; it was more along the lines of,  _ you never get used to the nightmares, but you do stop screaming yourself hoarse every time the Archdemon speaks directly into your bloody mind _ . "Just so you don’t think the camp is under attack, or, or anything."

 

"Ah, yes, better I know that and that you don't become a smouldering crater, I should think."

 

That earned a real smile. Enna had been prepared for a dismissive comment at best and open derision at worst. "Yeah. And - speaking of not becoming a crater, what should I call you? Your Wildness?"

 

"Morrigan will do just fine. Unless you prefer Ms. Witch of the Wilds. That may be amusing once Alistair wakes."

 

All right, good to know she could crack a joke without getting burnt alive. "Morrigan, then." Enna backed out of the circle of firelight. "Sleep well, Morrigan."

 

Morrigan simply nodded before turning back towards her own tent to prep her bedroll. Perhaps traveling with these Wardens would be more interesting than she had originally expected, even with a Blight on.


	2. Chapter 2

Aside from Ostagar, which had been more of a base camp than an actual town, Lothering was the first human settlement Enna had seen. The dog, who had caught up with them on the road, capered around the party as they crested the final rise above the king’s highway, and Enna laid what she hoped was a calming hand on his flank as they surveyed the town. Faced with real solid buildings that were neither tents nor ancient ruins nor huts in the swamp, she turned to her companions with an urgent question.

 

"You build your houses out of _wood_ ? Don't they catch on fire all the time?" Everything looked so _flammable_ , from the rough plank walls to the thatched and shingled roofs. As far as Enna knew, with her weak grasp on dwarven trade and economics outside of Dust Town, they didn't bother importing wood to Orzammar for anything besides stoking forge fires.

 

Alistair was laughing at her. "Ah, you see, the trick is not letting them do that, isn't it?" 

 

Enna kicked him in the shin, earning a smirk of approval from Morrigan.

 

\- 

__

 

They traveled until dusk before setting up camp for the night. Morrigan again settled on a location a short way from the rest of the party, and was none too pleased when the dwarf they had rescued from some darkspawn on the way out of Lothering invited himself into camp and set up halfway between her and the others. Still, as long as he didn't snore. Or make eye contact.

 

Enna had longer to wait for everyone else to bed down, since their party had somehow doubled in size since that morning, but once she heard the steady duet of snores coming from Alistair and Sten, she figured she'd waited long enough. She made her way to Morrigan's corner of the campsite in the dark, taking care to let her armor clink so that Morrigan wouldn't be surprised by her approach, and sat before the fire without invitation. "So, witches don’t need sleep?"

 

"I could ask the same of you," Morrigan replied, not with a scowl, but certainly a frown. It wasn't that company was completely unwelcome, but she had set herself apart from the rest for a reason.

 

"The big gray man," Enna said, instead of answering the question. "Why did you defend him?"

 

"It is as I said then, he is a warrior from a noble people. He deserves neither to be caged on display, nor to be served to the darkspawn. And certainly not by the workings of the Chantry."

 

"Fair enough." Though it was impossible to see that far in the dark, Enna glanced over to where Sten lay sleeping, remembering just how short she had felt walking beside him all afternoon. "It’s just strange. He killed a whole family in cold blood. I don’t understand why your sympathy would go to him over a lost and starving child.”

 

"Yes, well, a lost and starving child may thrive in the care of the Chantry to which you directed them. You saw for yourself how well our new friend was faring, and don't for a moment think that I would be treated any better."

 

Enna tried to picture Morrigan in that cage, without much success. A smile pulled at one corner of her mouth. "Your only crime is existing outside the Circle. Something tells me you'd be less willing than Sten to sit quietly in a cage."

 

"While it has been a challenge all on its own for them to capture me," Morrigan replied with a smirk, "it would seem you have much to learn regarding what the Circle is capable of after that point."

 

"Don’t we hold a treaty with the Circle now? Maybe you’d better catch me up.”

 

"The thing to know is that there are fates worse than death or cages. I suspect the mages will be happy to tell you all about them when we visit the tower." Morrigan saw no reason to tell horror stories of phylacteries and Tranquil when a face to face meeting would be much more effective.

 

"Fates worse than death? What, like demons?"

 

Morrigan laughed. "No, the Templars do not set demons upon their wards. Quite the opposite. You will see in time, I suspect."

 

"So mages can control demons? Can you? Or do they only teach you in the Circle?" It came out sounding more like an accusation than Enna had meant it to. _Are you a demon summoner?_ She tugged a few wiry blades of grass out of the hard-packed dirt and focused on peeling them apart with her blunt fingernails, hoping Morrigan would not take offense.

 

Morrigan looked toward the other girl, ready to snap at her, but saw that she had already turned inwards, waiting for the blow, and took a breath before responding. "Any mage that claims to control a demon has already been lost to it, so no, the Circle will in fact have nothing to do with that sort of thing."

 

"Oh." Enna was quiet for a moment, shredding her blades of grass, tossing the ragged fibers one by one into the fire. "Isn’t the Circle supposed to protect mages from demons?"

 

Morrigan huffed. "What the Circle does and what it is supposed to do are rarely one and the same. You come from a city run by a council of sorts, do you not? Do they always make the best choices for the city and the people?"

 

"Of course not.” Enna snorted aloud. “They make the choices that keep them in power and grind the rest of us into the dust."

 

Morrigan couldn't help but smile bitterly. "Then you are already more acquainted with the Circle than you believe."

 

The last of her strands of grass went into the flames, curling in the heat. Enna caught herself watching the play of the firelight on Morrigan's long, slender neck again. "We're supposed to get them to join us, somehow. Against the Blight. If you've got ideas on how to convince them to honor the treaty, I’d love to hear them."

 

Morrigan looked closely at the dwarf. She was asking for advice again, with no trace of insincerity in her voice. It was tempting, almost instinctual, to take Flemeth's example and spit something useless and caustic back. But she met her eyes and Morrigan found herself thinking instead, the insult sticking in her throat. "The mages, while spineless, will want to help. It is most likely the Templars holding their leashes you will have to convince."

 

It was rare that anyone bothered to study Enna with such intent. Well, anyone besides the occasional thug in Beraht’s employ, who quickly learned better, and the girls, whom she paid to do exactly that. Enna tried not to squirm. "Any ideas about how to talk to Templars?"

 

Morrigan gave a slight snort. "Talking to them was never much of an option when they came into the Wilds, so no. You seem to do well enough with their pup," she said, gesturing towards Alistair's snoring form.

 

Enna glanced over at the other fire and the long lump silhouetted against it. Even from this distance, she could hear him snoring. He really did seem to be doing his best - to keep up morale, to move on from Ostagar. His best just involved a lot of bad puns and wry humor. Enna wondered if he knew how young he seemed. It was easy to forget he’d already been a Templar for years before Duncan recruited him. Any longer with the Templars and perhaps Alistair would have met his end in the swamp at Morrigan’s hand.

 

He’d been a Warden hardly longer than she had. What a pair they made.

 

"So all those belts -" she flicked her gaze to them, trailing unevenly from the hem of Morrigan's skirt. "Templars?"

 

The witch smiled to herself. "Some of them, yes. Mostly the first few. Others came from the lost who met their fate in the Wilds, or those who decided a lone woman in the market would make easy prey. Fools, generally speaking."

 

"You'd think they would take the hint, after a while." By the Stone, the woman could smile without irony after all. At least, it didn't look ironic this time, Enna thought as she watched Morrigan recall, with clear fondness, all the times she'd killed a man and taken a trophy off his corpse. Enna realized she was probably staring like an idiot (again) but couldn't take her gaze away from the way Morrigan's mouth thinned and lifted and curled up at the corners when she smiled. Like a - _what were those things called, that the humans liked to keep as pets_ \- like a cat.

 

"Alas, there seems to be a never ending supply of stupid men in the world. Had you not noticed?"

 

At that, Enna leaned back on her hands and grinned. "I had. That’s why I don't sleep with them."

 

Morrigan felt her eyebrows raise, gently surprised. "That's one way of avoiding the issue, I suppose."

 

"And if they won't take no for an answer, _then_ you kill them."

 

"Ah, our approaches have more in common than I thought."

 

Enna tilted her head, letting it rest on one shoulder. This was the sort of banter she could be comfortable in.  "The way you talk about men? Can’t picture you sleeping with one."

 

The comment, and the heat that came with it, caught Morrigan by surprise, and it took her a moment to compose an answer. "Perhaps it is not your business picturing who I choose to keep the company of."

 

It was difficult to tell in the flickering light, but Enna thought she saw a hint of a flush across Morrigan's cheekbones. "Am I wrong?"

 

Morrigan regretted the color she could feel in her cheeks, though that helpfully made it easier to summon up some bite. "I don't see how that matters in any practical way. Now do you have more questions about our travels or do you simply remain here to bother me." 

 

"Mostly to bother you," said Enna, but she got to her feet anyway and stretched, trying to work some of the stiffness of travel out of her back and shoulders. She figured if she left when Morrigan wanted her to, the witch might tolerate her company again the next evening.

 

Morrigan, for her part, gave a sharp laugh. Not many people were brave enough to admit that to her. "Leave now, before I decide your bravado is more insulting than surprising." She tried to keep a harsh edge in her voice, but couldn’t help the small smile that played across her face.

 

-

 

Those who greeted the company at Redcliffe proved more hostile and less alive than expected, and it quickly became apparent that avoiding the undead conflict would not lead to an audience with the Arl. The rest of the afternoon was a drudging succession of errands, up and down the hillside, dragging every able-bodied fighter out of their house and into the square. Alistair was tense and irritable, presumably concerned for his lord, and Enna could see Morrigan's patience wearing thinner by the hour, but by dusk they had a respectable showing of townsmen in the village square, equipped with overall passable arms and armor. Sten had come down from the campsite to join them, and now stood apart, watching the preparations with a critical eye.

 

"He doesn't look happy," Enna remarked to Morrigan. She was bent over, tightening the straps of her greaves, and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes as she straightened. "Sten. Bet he's thinking they're under-prepared."

 

"He wouldn't be wrong, if that's the case. Some of these people seem scarcely capable of holding a rake, let alone a sword." This would not be Morrigan's first encounter with the walking dead, and it seemed that most of the villagers had seen, or at least heard, what they were up against tonight. Morrigan was confident that their small party would survive, but she appreciated the highly reserved optimism of the local leaders.

 

"People  fight harder when they're scared." Enna drew her short swords one after the other and cleaned them on the leg of her trousers. "They’ll fight to protect their wives and mothers and children. That should give them a leg up on the legions of the undead."

 

Morrigan declined to respond, but the Warden's outlook bothered her less than she would have expected. Perhaps because it wasn't without merit.

 

"Wouldn't you fight twice as hard if you were protecting someone you cared about?” Enna tilted her head back to study the human woman. So sodding tall, all of them. “Your mother?"

 

Morrigan scoffed. "Mother stopped giving me care shortly after I could walk. It was not long after that I stopped giving her mine as well."

 

Her own mother hadn't bothered to show up when she left Orzammar at Duncan's side. Enna wondered if Mother had noticed she was alone in the hovel yet, with Enna and Rica both gone. "Why did you resist, then? When she sent you with us." 

 

She almost had an answer, but when she started to open her mouth, nothing came out. _Because I had to. Because I don't like you. Because I'm lazy and selfish. Because I've never done anything else and didn't know if I could._ But none of those she could say now, and several weren't even true. After a short pause, she settled on, "Perhaps abandoning the familiar is easy for you, but it is never wise to expect that of others."

 

That one sprig of hair wouldn't tuck back in. Enna let the rest of her hair out of its bun and gave it a toss. "Sten did seem resigned to his cage. And you to your swamp." She ran her fingers through her hair, working at the knots, considering. "Maybe the familiar doesn't seem so bad when you think there’s nothing better. Is this better? Than the swamp? I mean - undead aside." She tied her bun back up. Nothing more annoying than hair in your eyes during a battle.

 

Morrigan blinked, having caught herself looking at Enna’s hair as it swept across her shoulders. "Perhaps. It may be too early to judge. Let us survive this night, and the next several for good measure. Then I might make up my mind."

 

Enna was still trying to figure out if that was teasing or not, and if so, what about, when one of the militiamen jogged up, an ill-fitting helmet bouncing on his head. "The creatures have been spotted further up the path. We need you at the mill, Warden."

  
_Great. Back up the hill we go._ “Alistair! Sten! Let's move." _I hope we survive this night as well, Witch of the Wilds. Maybe continue those fireside chats._

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Fools by Wild Child.
> 
> This one's gonna get long.


End file.
